Sniper's Regret
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Booth's agitated thoughts about, and painful reactions to Aldo Clemens' death.
1. Chapter 1

Sniper's Regret

Booth walked slowly down the familiar sidewalk he had traversed many times; hands thrust deep in his pockets, head down, lost in thought. He passed the doorway he had come through often, seeking his friend's wise counsel. Sharp memories of his tormented revelations in the bar's cold storage room, as he begged for advice-

"If I tell her what the bastard said, he'll kill innocent bystanders. Her best friend thinks I'm cheating on her. I can't reveal anything, but I _can't_ lose her. What can I do?"

He was overwhelmed by guilt. How could Aldo have fallen so far in the space of fourteen months? Tom Ellis had taken over the bar, changed its name, making its former owner a mere employee. That didn't erase Booth's painfully vivid memories of the place. While the patron traffic at Paradise Lost had admittedly been slow at times, the former priest had managed to keep his place afloat, working by himself, sleeping in the back room to minimize expenses.

Attacked in his own home, betrayed by those he trusted, charged with a crime, incarcerated, beaten up, Booth was haunted by that experience long after his release, but that was no excuse.

During his lapse into gambling, Aldo had urged him to remember what he stood to lose, checking in with Booth by cell call and text when he didn't stop by for the crappy microwave _hors d'oeuvres_ he served at the bar.

"Have you gone to your meetings?"

"Are you talking to Lutrell? Don't be an idiot, Booth."

"You remember what I told you in that church before you got married? ' _You screw this up, and it'll be worse than any hell God can dream up for you!'_ For God's sake, Booth—' _What you and Temperance have, it's the reason we draw breath!'_ You wanna lose the best thing you ever had? Pull your head out and grow a set, man!"

Aldo's support had steeled his resolve to resist, whenever he felt the urge, the siren song of the dice. As a priest and after, as comrade-in-arms and confessor, as bartender and friend, the man had _never_ failed to be there when Booth had sought solace and forgiveness, asked for advice, _needed_ him.

Ted McKinney was right; Booth hadn't been around enough, dropped by the VFW Hall recently, or checked on his friends—especially Aldo. Was he busy with worthwhile pursuits, crime investigations and family? Yes, but that wasn't a reason to drop the ball like he had. Rangers never left one of their own behind, except that he had. He couldn't remember the last time they'd spoken, and their most recent contact had been only by cell phone or text.

Booth knew the truth of Ted's accusations.

"Guess that's what it takes—one of us dying before he comes around here…What did Booth do to help him stay alive? Not enough!"

He replayed McKinney's distraught interrogation room comments in his head.

"I needed someone, and he wouldn't even talk to me… I didn't kill Aldo. I did something worse….I didn't know what I was gonna do…The driver gets out and jumps Aldo…Whatever happens, I deserve. Because I froze. I didn't help him!"

And therein was the terrible truth. He, Seeley Booth, hadn't been there to save Aldo either. Brennan's recounting the team's conversation in front of the Angelatron screen echoed inside his head.

"Why torture him so horribly, but end it with a relatively quick human death?" "There's a cruelty to this killer, it doesn't fit."

"I agree. Cause of death was a transected cervical spinal cord. We need to understand how that was done."

"Was that tape torn? I'm sure this is important."

"But why? If I'm the killer….I'd cut the tape."

"It was torn. Which suggests Aldo tried to break free."

"Not enough to escape…but give him some range of motion. If he pushed himself back up the table…and could raise his upper torso….to sever his spinal cord."

"…the man was once a priest. And suicide is a cardinal sin."

Booth replayed his all-too-clear visualization of the scene and sickening realization that Aldo had offed himself-and why.

"It wasn't a suicide."

"Booth the facts clearly indicate that it was."

"A sacrifice, it was a sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?"

"He was trying to protect someone."

He thought back through his discussion at home with Brennan the previous night.

"Bones, he, um, he died 'cause he was trying to protect me. I'm the one who made that shot. Aldo knew that I was the shooter. He killed himself so he wouldn't have to give me up."

No amount of rationalization or protest from his wife would dissuade Booth from his conviction that Aldo Clemens had died a martyr.

His shoulders sagged. He knew, despite his friend's raging against God, that he still believed, held true to the tenets that had led him to become a priest. He knew that only extreme desperation would have caused him to break those laws, go against everything his life had stood for. As Father Clemens, Army Chaplain, Aldo had counseled dozens of soldiers to have hope, to stay the course, remain strong. Drug them back from a pit of self-loathing over what they had done to execute a mission, carry out orders, defend their country.

Aldo had willingly listened to any soldier in the outfit who came to him. But for the Catholics in the platoon, like Booth, he had also heard Confession, absolving the guilt he felt over taking a life, even officially sanctioned. He had relieved Booth's anxiety numerous times to the point that he finally gave up his vocation altogether; and the agent felt the burden of that fact.

In his churning gut, Booth knew his assumption about the killer's identity is accurate: the warlord's young son, now matured and out for blood. Once kidnapped, Aldo has shown himself made of stern stuff, enduring a dreadful end to maintain his silence. Despite his calling out God as a 'bastard' after leaving the priesthood, Aldo's taking his own life to avoid revealing the sniper's name to his tormenter would be a grave course of action, a last ditch decision born of desperation. Booth's mental image of the bleeding man straining at his bonds, whipping, slamming his head back, and lapsing into oblivion would never fade.

He raised his head, squared his shoulders, and continued walking. His next stop was the oldest parish church in the District. He pushed open St. Patrick's heavy oak doors, and headed for a back pew near the Confessional room. The search for Raddatz's son while protecting his own would demand his full attention. He needed to get square with God and Aldo, no matter what others might think.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Sniper's Solace

Brennan picked up Hank and Christine from the Jeffersonian daycare, stopped at the organic market for ingredients to make Gran's Bolognese sauce and Booth's favorite Caesar salad. She knew he was distraught over Aldo's horrific death, and had taken the afternoon off to clear his head. Arriving home, she settled Hank in front of the television with his Megablocs to watch a Land Before Time movie, and got Christine started on her homework with a snack of peanut butter celery sticks. The details of Little Foot and his friends were woefully inaccurate, but it was Hank's current favorite.

Her mind was elsewhere as she chopped, pureed, stirred and simmered their dinner, wondering how Booth had spent his time since their lunch at the diner. He'd hardly touched his hamburger or fries, a sure sign of how upset he was. Still very sore from being thrown into his SUV by the explosion at the battery recycling plant where Aldo had been held, Booth had no trouble gaining permission to leave work early. Her bruises and contusions were less severe, but Brennan also felt achy and stiff as a result of the blast. She sighed, wishing that their physical and mental pain could be repaired as easily as the broken window of Booth's SUV.

At 5:30 she heard the rumble of his engine pulling into the driveway. The front door lock turned as she cautioned the kids to be gentle with Daddy's 'owies'. Booth came in and bent to hug his son and daughter, meeting her eyes over their heads. He was subdued and still sad, but more at peace than at noon. He stood up and sniffed appreciatively.

"Is that Gram's special sauce? It smells heavenly, Bones," he said quietly, hugging her tightly. She took his face in her hands, and kissed him. He inhaled her comforting vanilla cinnamon-y scent and buried his face in her hair.

She smiled at him gently. "From your celestial comment, do I correctly surmise you paid a visit to your church this afternoon?"

"Yeah, Bones, I did. It was thoughtful of you to call Father Donovan beforehand and tell him about Aldo. It saved me from having to repeat the details again. Tim was very supportive; gave me some things to think about. Confession helped too, but I kinda miss Sweets, ya know? He'd probably have good suggestions for coping with all this."

"Yes, he very likely would. Looking back, I find that the longer we knew him, the sounder his advice became. Part of that was his gaining maturity, partly due to our friendship, but his soft science did contain some wisdom after all."

"Father Tim suggested I do something constructive for the VFW guys. I walked a long time before I headed to St. Patrick's, and I sorta thought the same thing. I don't really feel I can tell these guys anything they haven't already heard at the VA PTSD Therapy sessions, but perhaps my going down there on a regular basis will help in some way."

"Maybe set up a subsidy fund, from which a veteran could get a small loan for groceries or necessities, and pay it back later if and when he could. Also gave some thought to trying to help them gain access to service dogs. Providing a dog for each service member is extemely expensive …I'm gonna investigate whether a visitation program could be set up; bring the dogs to the VFW on a regular basis or let the guys help care for and train the pups, if they want."

"Both those ideas seem worthwhile, Booth. It would be an honor to establish a project like that in Aldo's memory. My publisher has been contacted about a second movie deal for Bones in the Amazon so the royalty checks could go to support it."

"We need to be careful about naming anything right now, Bones," Booth said in a undertone. "Like I said last night, we've gotta be ready."

He gave her a significant look, and she nodded. Protecting their own son, Christine, Max, Russ's family, and their unusual extended family of squints, agents, and Caroline would be paramount in the months ahead during their careful investigation of the general's angry son. Discovering his plans for violent retribution would require all the caution, skill, and patience their team possessed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Nighttime Plans

Booth shifted his position in bed for the umpteenth time. He had spent the last three hours of this Friday night staring at the ceiling, replaying the horrors of Aldo's demise in his head, mulling what little they knew about his killer, analyzing how best to apprehend Raddatz.

He fully understood the man's motivation. If anyone had killed Pops right in front of him, Booth would have been out for blood. Not literally perhaps, due to his religious beliefs; but certainly emotionally. His adversary's frame of morality was entirely different. Starkly aware of the dangers his family and friends now faced, he had sought Cullen's approval for taking some unusual precautions.

Parker was touring with Angela's father and their tour schedule had been heavily publicized. Booth privately briefed Billy Gibbons' crack security team. The people involved were Texans; mostly former service members who understood the need for silent vigilance and accustomed to dealing with obsessed fans. Booth wished fervently that he didn't need to warn those close to him.

Even Rebecca and her 'Captain Fantastic' could be at risk. As a Coast Guard Reserve Lt. Commander, Brent held the proper security clearance for the details. Having prosecuted some disgruntled people in her law practice, Rebecca already knew to stay aware of her surroundings. She had also taken self-defense from Brennan's sensei.

The Serbian documents Brennan had seen at the crime scene were torched when the bomb went off. All that valuable evidence gone, Booth thought ruefully. Danny Beck had agreed to share what information the CIA had, and Cullen had read in Jethro Gibbs. Booth's cousin and Abby Sciuto were perceptive resources as well.

B&B B&B

For now, he shoved those thoughts aside and glanced at his bedside clock. 3:26 am. Aldo's remains had given all the clues Cam, Hodgins, and Bones could glean, and were ready for release. Booth knew that Aldo had grown up in a working class neighborhood near Chicago, an only child, and his parents were both deceased. His decision to cremate Jared had been made for him when Kevin O'Donnell insisted they torch the van containing his body. With Aldo, he hesitated. What would his friend have wanted? The Church had only allowed cremation since 1963. Booth punched his pillow, flumped his head back into its softness, and then froze as Brennan stirred beside him.

"Booth, you okay?" she mumbled sleepily. "It's the middle of the night."

"Yeah, Bones, I'm fine. Go back to sleep, Baby." He leaned over and kissed her softly.

"Don't call me 'Baby'," she protested as she dozed off again.

Aldo's sarcastic voice sounded in Booth's head.

"Come on, Booth, don't worry about my body. I've shuffled off my mortal coil; don't need it any more. Just cremate me and use the money Temperance would have insisted on paying for a casket and embalming for the VFW guys. You know how much she spent on that old Salvadoran man and his daughter. Or, if it makes you feel better, give me a natural burial out on that land Jacob Broadsky stuck you with, get a priest to bless the ground, and plant a tree on top of me."

"You don't wanna be at Arlington? I think the Bureau would arrange that with the VA, considering what you did for me. Or Alexandria National Cemetery is close by, how 'bout there?"

"You do realize you're conversing with a ghost in your head, Booth?"

"Well, when Bones mentioned her desire for a Tibetan sky burial and changed her decision to being scattered in a volcano, I read up on burial options. The only green burial Catholic cemetery I know of is Most Holy Redeemer in Albany, New York. Too far away, 'cause I want to be able to visit you the way I do Pops and Gram."

"Sky burial? Eaten by vultures? No thank you! And a volcano? I know Temperance says she's an aetheist, but for me, that's just too much like ol' Satan's territory! I really don't care, Booth, but I'll haunt you if you blow a lot of money planting me some place, I promise you that!"

"No, Aldo, I'll be thrifty. The VFW guys like McKinney really need the help."

"I kinda like your dog idea, Booth. Always had a dog when I was a kid. We had to buy their food at Walmart, since Dad didn't earn a lot, but we took good care of 'em, nonetheless."

Grinning to himself at Aldo's unorthodox ethereal suggestions, he resolved to call Father Donovan in the morning, and turned his mind to therapy dogs for the VFW guys.

B&B B&B

Christine loved animals as much as her mother, and was fascinated by the television show _Pit Bulls and Parolees._ Ever since Brennan had tried to adopt Riley, she had supported a therapy dog program in the DC area, as well as Tia Maria Torres' dog rescue center in New Orleans. An enthusiastic fan of Bones' books, Torres had been delighted by Brennan's donation of several signed copies for a fundraising auction. Booth yawned widely, and added an exploratory phone call to his 'to do' list.The Big Easy dog advocate was sure to have ideas about enabling the vets to interact and assist with therapy dogs, or perhaps train them. Satisfied with his nocturnal planning, Booth drifted off to sleep.

Later Saturday morning, he placed a call to Tim Donovan. The priest had known of Aldo and was saddened by the news of his death.

"I think in view of what's happened, the diocese would grant a dispensation for Aldo's interment out of your property, Seeley. We'd need to consecrate the ground, and it'd be better to bury him next to a tree. I'm not sure the Church wants us serving as fertilizer quite that directly. I bet wild flowers or meadow grass would take over the spot naturally after a while anyway. "

"The Trappist monks at St Meinrad Arch-Abbey in Indiana or the Cistercians of New Melleray Abbey in Iowa now make wood urns as well as traditional caskets, if you wish to order one of those. They are usually stained and finished, but could be made of natural wood as well. Hector Garcia at Parkman's Mortuary does a respectful job."

"But Aldo was a veteran, like you, right? Why not let the VA handle his arrangements at one of the military cemeteries around here? My grandfather is at Alexandria; it's a peaceful well maintained place, if Aldo doesn't qualify for Arlington. If you do that, I won't get in hot water with the Bishop as much."

"I'll talk it over with Bones, and let you know, Father. Thanks for the insights, Tim. I appreciate your advice," Booth told the priest.

His next call was to New Orleans. Tia answered the phone amid a cacophony of barking.

"Seeley? Good to hear from you!"

He spent the next fifteen minutes explaining his ideas to Tia, and outlining his questions.

"There are two groups in your area I can think of who could use some help. Angel Canines for Wounded Warriors is in Virginia Beach, and Paws4Vets is right in DC. It's part of Paws4People. Either group would welcome the extra hands, and those vets you know with PTSD might benefit more from helping train dogs for their wounded brothers than just interacting with a therapy dog. Our parolees gain a lot from being responsible for the care and wellbeing of our dogs. Gets their minds off themselves and onto helping others," Tia suggested.

"I hadn't thought of that slant. Kinda kill two birds with one stone…bad analogy for soldiers, but your ideas are great. Thanks, Tia!"

"Give Tempe my best, Seeley. When are you gonna bring those kiddos of yours down here to pet our dogs and play in the Gulf? The water's nice and warm right now."

"Maybe soon, Tia, who knows where Bones' next book tour will be? Thanks again."

Booth heard little footsteps coming down the stairway, and turned toward the hall. Hank was dragging his favorite stuffed bear, his pajama pants slid dangerously low over his skinny little hips.

"Hey, Tiger. Good morning! Let's give your pants a tug, before they fall off of you! You want to help me make chocolate chip pancakes for your mommy and Christine?"

"Yeah, Daddy, I'll stir!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 A Unexpected Revelation

Sunday morning found Booth, Christine, and little Hank in the fourth pew back at St. Patrick's. It was not their usual parish but extremely significant to Booth. He had taken Brennan along the morning after she and Hodgins were rescued from the quarry, to thank God for 'all of us' while shushing her blunt questions.

"I'm okay with you thanking God for saving me and Hodgins," he remembered her saying.

And then his response, "That's not what I thanked Him for; I thanked Him for saving all of us. It was all of us, every single one. You take one of us away and you and Hodgins are in that hole forever. And I'm thankful for that."

On the way out, Brennan had noted the unique design of St. Patrick's Leo Irerra crucifix; its dual depiction of Christ both risen and crucified; and he was astounded that she was aware of it.

Their other worst partnership experience was Pelant forcing Booth to inexplicably break their engagement. During that torment, Aldo had saved his life for a second time; convinced Brennan that Booth loved her deeply; there _was_ a reason behind his actions, urging her to have faith; to trust. That evening in _Paradise Lost,_ his sarcastically-named little bar, Aldo Clemens had assured Booth's _Paradise Regained._

Their exchange leaving St. Patrick's back then echoed in Booth's head.

"I knew you wouldn't give up," she told him.

"I knew you wouldn't give up," he assured her.

Then they looked at each other. "What's that mean?"

Ten years later, he knew 'what that meant'—their wonderful life together, which Aldo had made possible. No wonder he had stuffed Booth's pockets full of business cards when Pelant was doing his worst!

Lost in remembering, Booth felt a tug on his suit coat.

"Daddy, it's over. Can we get donuts?" Hank asked. "I'm really hungry."

"Chrissy, you think Hanko here deserves some donuts?" Booth asked his daughter with a smile. She gave him her mother's look, and replied, "Oh, I sup-pose so," and broke into giggles.

Hank clambered off the wooden seat, and took Booth's outstretched hand. Christine primly genuflected and gazed at the crucifix that had caught her mother's eye.

"Daddy, that's a very strange cross. Why is the middle scooped out?"

"I think it shows Jesus rising again after Good Friday, honey. See how it's shaped like a body?"

"Weird, Daddy!"

"The artist was trying to make people think."

Father Donovan greeted them as they exited. "Seeley, can you call me later this afternoon?"

"Sure thing, Father. After we get these monkeys fed; about two o'clock?"

"That'll be fine. You guys have a good week, and tell your mother hello for me."

"Daddy, Chrissy's your monkey, I'm your Tiger!" Hank protested.

B&B B&B

Driving home, Booth listened to the prattle of his children, and wondered what Father Donovan wanted to discuss with him. Perhaps the priest had some ideas about the veterans' fund he had Brennan were planning in Aldo's memory. Suddenly he had the sensation Pops had called 'a ghost walking over your grave' as a stark thought doused his Sunday calm with metaphoric cold water.

 _Pelant_. What if Raddatz' son had electronic resources? While Booth might assume, from the box of files Brennan had found at the abandoned recording studio, that Raddatz was a low-tech guy; his planning of Aldo's captivity had been exquisitely detailed. Just because the man knew to avoid traffic cameras, didn't mean he wasn't computer-savvy. Booth swallowed hard, took a deep breath, glanced back at his kids, and drove to the bakery.

After Hank's treasured donuts were selected and purchased, (a serious process which tried his worried father's patience) the trio headed home. Booth was careful not to drive any faster than usual, because like her perceptive parents, Christine noticed _everything_. Once home, he dispatched the children to change into play clothes and headed for Brennan's office where she was working on her latest book.

"We need to talk." His serious expression conveyed more than his words, and she nodded, closing her computer. While he changed into jeans and t-shirt, she lifted Hank onto a stool and distributed pastries as he directed. She loved the croissants Booth had brought, but her mouth was dry. She filled two mugs with coffee as he returned to the kitchen. He kissed her gently and extracted a chocolate sprinkle crème filled puff from the box. Handing him a mug, she took a seat beside him.

"Mommy, eat your kwa-sont," Hank urged. She took a few bites, which tasted like chalk.

"How was church?"

"I was good!" the little boy declared. "Chrissy said so! Can I go play outside? Plllleease?"

"What do you say to your dad for the donuts?

"Thank you!"

"Christine, honey, will you keep an eye on him? We don't need any more balls in the Fremont's back yard."

"Sure, Dad," she replied with a grin. A sister grown up enough to mind her brother could take certain liberties.

"' _Dad'?_ What happened to 'Daddy'? Okay, Monkey, you'll be my little girl no matter how tall you get!" Booth said, ruffling her bangs.

B&B B&B

Brennan refilled their mugs and returned to the table. "What's wrong, Booth?"

"Father Donovan asked me to call him this afternoon. I don't know what it's about, but I think we need to take Pelant precautions. Does Angela still maintain electronic blocking in the Bone Room? Can you ask her to make sure? I'm going to call Max and see if he feels up to reading with the kids."

"Booth, maybe you should just call Annie down the street, and see if she's free. If my dad gets wind of something, he'll want to be in the middle of it or contact one of his buddies. We need to limit who knows about this. Call Father Tim to meet us at the Jeffersonian."

Booth went down to his man cave, closed the door, and pulled up the priest's cell number on his phone. "Hey, Tim, before you start, we need to talk someplace secure…."

An hour later, the couple picked up the priest in Brennan's Prius. She scooted her seat forward as he folded his lanky frame into the back seat.

"You two could improve security at the Vatican," he joked. "How do you fit in this tiny thing?" he asked Booth.

"I drive an SUV, Father, but Bones' car is less obvious."

Tim Donovan was as fascinated by the Jeffersonian as he had been as a child, and quietly elated to see more of it, despite the sadness of the opportunity. The lab's elevator doors opened at the basement level. Donovan's eyes widened as they walked down low-lit aisles of stacked plastic drawers. He watched as she paused to select a box and signed it out on the log. Once they were in Brennan's exam room, Booth closed the door.

"Sorry for the extra rigamarole, but we've been pursued by psychos before. Can't be too careful," Booth told his friend, while his wife pulled on gloves and arranged the bones. She needed routine to calm herself and knew the priest would be interested. The two men watched her precise movements.

"After you asked about Aldo's funeral yesterday morning, I spent a lot of time thinking about that poor man. I decided I needed to share something with you I've kept private until now. Last month, I got a phone call requesting assistance, which isn't unusual in my line of work, as you know. But the results were very surprising. A woman asked to come see me, and made an afternoon appointment in my office. She told me quite a story."

"It seems she met Aldo at a bartending course five years after he gave up the priesthood. It was offered by Northern Virginia Community College-Alexandria, of all places. They hit it off, became friends, and started dating. Things got serious after a while, and she found herself expecting a child. Aldo, of course, wanted to do the right thing," the priest paused to sip his coffee.

"This sounds all too familiar," Booth muttered to himself.

Father Tim continued, "Anyway, they had a very small wedding before the baby arrived; a little girl. They made it okay together for a couple years before their divorce. They loved each other, but Aldo was burdened by guilt for getting things out of order, and she resented his gloom."

"He sent support money regularly, but she returned home to North Carolina, moved back in with her folks for help with the child. Neither of them had much money to travel often, so regretfully, he saw very little of his daughter."

"She sent pictures and letters and called him frequently. Over the last year or so, their contact has been increasingly sporadic, then stopped altogether. As Aldo grew distant, she lost patience and quit trying. He always called on the girl's birthday, but last month he failed to do so. She's a junior in high school, and wanted her dad to come see her graduate next spring."

"Her mother has been trying to re-establish contact with Aldo on their daughter's behalf. She had business in Baltimore last week and decided to stop off in DC to track Aldo down if she could. Dropped by his bar, and found someone else owned it. He no longer worked there. Checked his old apartment address without any success. I guess from their conversations, she knew he attended Mass at St Patrick's from time to time since it's so close to his bar."

"So she stopped by to see if I knew his whereabouts, or could give her any suggestions. Obviously, at the time, I didn't think too much about it. Aldo was a good man, but felt betrayed by God. He came to Mass occasionally, in fits and starts, sometimes for several weeks in a row, sometimes not for months. I told her as much, but promised to keep my ears open, ask around, and let her know if I heard from Aldo or anything about him."

"Your coming to Confession a few days ago, and calling me yesterday made me feel like I've got to let this lady know what has happened to Aldo. She still seems to care for him, and I think his daughter has a right to know that her father was an incredibly courageous man."

Father Tim stopped talking, and waited for Booth's reaction. There was only silence.

"Booth, you still with us?"

Brennan came around the table, removed her gloves, and took her husband's hand. He blinked at her for a moment.

"Yeah, Father, I'm here. I'm just speechless-flabbergasted-overwhelmed! Aldo was married? Has a daughter? Never got to spend time with her? This situation just keeps getting worse and worse. I thought I had problems with Rebecca. Mine were nothing compared to this! How can I help?"

"You think I should tell his ex-wife what happened? It's so horrific, the girl may be traumatized; her mom may think I've been totally inappropriate and crass to open these wounds for the two of them. I can't think of a gentle way to reveal such horrific information! Usually, I'm pretty good at giving people bad news, breaking it to them gradually, but there's no way to make this palatable, bearable, acceptable in any way."

"What do I tell them? How? In person? By phone? Believe me, they didn't cover this kind of situation in our seminary training, grief counseling workshops, or anywhere else I know of!"

"Do you want me and Bones to go with you to North Carolina? Or set up a video conference for you at the Jeffersonian to speak with them? We could postpone the memorial service until the two of them can decide if they want to attend. They'll release Aldo's remains by Tuesday or Wednesday. I hadn't decided what to do with Aldo's body yet, whether to bury or cremate him."

"But in light of this; finding he has a daughter and ex-wife; family, cremation makes more sense. It would give them time to come to grips with the news and let us know what they want to do; if they wish to be involved, help plan the ceremony, attend his service, or not come at all until later," Booth continued.

"If the situation was reversed and I had been killed, I would want Parker to know the facts. Christine and Hank are with Bones and me, but Rebecca and I had a situation similar to Aldo's family. I didn't get nearly as much time as I wanted with my elder son when he was small, but things improved over time between his mother and me. She's a fantastic parent, and realized I wanted to be also. I can't imagine Parker never knowing what happened to me, if I died in the line of duty. Which I believe Aldo certainly did."

"Talking though this with you makes me think burial in a military cemetery would be the most appropriate. I believe Aldo would want a memorial service that includes Mass, Father. The only question is where to inter him. I think he deserves to rest in Arlington. Sam Cullen, my boss at the Hoover is also a veteran, and he has friends in the Cemetery Administration who can make that decision."

Booth mused out loud, "Aldo's daughter might gain comfort in helping with the Wounded Warrior canine project Bones and I are starting up. The VFW guys will benefit by helping care for the dogs, and if their PTSD is serious enough, they can apply for a support animal."

"Why don't you consider this overnight; a trip to tell them in person versus a video conference, and let me know in the morning. Either way, Bones and I will be with you to tell Aldo's family, Father."

"Thanks, Booth. I can see why the Army called you back to Afghanistan. You analyze problems well, and put yourself out on behalf of others."

"Just like you do, Tim," Booth told him. "Come by tomorrow morning and let Bones know what you decide. By the way, what is her name?"

"Marisa. Her mom is Elaine. I have a lot to consider. I will talk to you in the morning, Seeley. Meanwhile, not to be crass, but Temperance, this is amazing. How do you know where to place each bone?"

"She's a genius, Father!" Booth grinned.

"Seeley Booth, you are truly blessed!"

Booth grew serious. "Aldo said the love we share is the reason people draw breath."

Brennan looked at him through tears. "You've never told me that," she said softly.

The couple shared a silent conversation, and the priest watched, quietly awed.

"We gotta blow this popsicle stand and get home to pay the sitter. I promised Christine I'd practice kicking soccer goals with her," Booth declared. "Let's get you back to the rectory, Tim. Thanks for understanding about talking here. We all need to watch what we say, and where until this guy is apprehended."

As he extracted himself from Brennan's car, Father Tim smiled at the pair. "God bless the rest of your Sunday, and the work you do to protect us."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 A Secure Conversation

When Father Donovan was escorted to Brennan's office Monday morning, he told her how much he had loved coming to the Jeffersonian with his grandfather.

As they walked to Bone Storage, Brennan smiled warmly. "Booth's son Parker has enjoyed this place since he was little. His delight and enthusiasm was part of what deepened my friendship with Booth. He is such a good father. Parker was why my father Max started an after-school program for youngsters here."

Her expression faded. "He may not be able to continue with it much longer. He's recently been taken quite ill. He has cancer with six months to live."

Father Tim patted her shoulder. "I will keep him in my prayers. I know you don't believe it helps, but it certainly won't do any harm."

She turned to him, "Thank you for that. As a priest, you might find it interesting that my interns call our Bones Storage 'Limbo.' Not its official name, but somewhat fitting, don't you agree?"

"Yup, I'd say so."

They entered the secure room and shut the door.

"Overnight it occurred to me that we need to proceed carefully to protect Aldo's ex-wife and daughter. If Booth arranges a memorial Mass and military interment, we need to make sure you and Booth, or they aren't the only ones attending. Nothing to draw attention to this funeral being any different than other service members being laid to rest." Donovan told her.

He continued, "I considered postponing his funeral altogether until the FBI catches this man, but Elaine would keep searching. That could expose her to additional risk. She and Marisa need closure before her graduation approaches, but I'm not sure how much to reveal to her."

"Dr. Brennan, I served in the Navy before entering the seminary, not nearly as long as Booth or Aldo, but I understand the need for secrecy in a case like this. As a Bosnian, Raddatz would be aware of Orthodox Christian practices, and they aren't so different from ours. Having no funeral would draw his notice, but a poorly attended service would invite scrutiny of who the individual mourners are, and that is the last thing Booth needs."

"Tim, I appreciate all the thought you've put into this," Brennan said.'

"Did you know Jared too?" she asked softly.

"Yes, I did. I was so sorry to hear what happened to him. I was in Rome when his memorial service was held, and regretted I couldn't attend."

"I think your ideas for the VFW veterans fund, and the service dog project are excellent. Aldo would be pleased. I do think you should keep your financial donation and its dedication to Aldo quiet for the time being. Booth's identity can't be attached to anything that might tip off Raddatz."

Brennan inquired solemnly, "Tim, doesn't the Bible advocate doing charitable works in private? 'But you, doing acts of charity, do not let your left _hand_ know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you,' I think it says."

"Touche, Dr. Brennan. An aetheist who's familiar with Scripture."

"It is beautiful literature, regardless of what I believe, is it not?"

He returned her grin. "You are quite right; it definitely is. Now I need to get back to my parish for a staff meeting. Let me know when you or Booth next wish to talk."

"Have a good morning, Father. Thank you for coming over."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 Planning for Perpetuity

Brennan placed a call to let Booth know Father Donovan had departed. With no new cases called in over the weekend, she set to work on an unclaimed set of bones sent to the lab from California. The remains had been found in Death Valley on a desolate back country road. Picked clean by hungry vultures, the bones had required little preparation before being sterilized with ultraviolet light and stored to await her attention.

Laying them out, Brennan remembered Hodgins' wry comment about Chloe Robertson's body; that to vultures, battery acid was a tasty salsa. By the time her husband arrived, she had ruled out foul play, so that likely cause of death was exposure and extreme dehydration. The bones were recent, from the mid-1990's, and Hodgins' particulate analysis showed that the individual had lived in Germany.

He was in his mid-30's and was almost certainly Egbert Rimkus, a 34-year old German tourist who disappeared in July 1996 during a stretch of sweltering 128 degree weather. His bones were not near the rented minivan his group traveled in, and Brennan wondered why the remains of his girlfriend and her child, or his son's bones were not found as well.

She knew that feeling secure in their vehicles, people fail to bring along multiple spare tires, at least enough water for three days, and a satellite phone. Had Rimkus invested in an extra case of bottled water and stuck to a well-traveled road like the route Junipero Serra used crossing the hot desert expanse, they would likely have been found and survived. As Booth entered the room, she replaced Rimkus' last bone in the clear bin, recorded her findings and signed his chart. Once his family was contacted, they would respond if they disagreed with her prediction.

B&B B&B

Removing her examination gloves, Brennan stepped from behind her table and embraced her husband before speaking.

"Tim believes we should schedule a private Memorial Mass for Aldo, once he's cremated and request interment in a military cemetery. He feels Marisa and Elaine should be informed of his passing away, but not the awful details until Raddatz is apprehended. Unaware of Aldo's death, Elaine would keep searching for him on Marisa's behalf, possibly drawing dangerous attention to themselves."

"He agrees that Aldo deserves Arlington if you can arrange it, but assured me that Alexandria National Cemetery is well-maintained and quite beautiful. It is 20 minutes from the Hoover, 8 miles via the GW Parkway. His suggestion for the military committal ceremony is to contact the Patriot Guard Riders who shield mourning military families from those Westboro Baptist funeral demonstrations. Its members would honor Aldo by attending anonymously."

"Tim also cautioned me to keep our involvement in, and financial contributions to the VFW fund and service dog project secret for now. He said Aldo would appreciate the honor, but understand it being kept under wraps right now. Did you know he served in the Navy before becoming a priest, Booth?"

Booth was silent for a short time, then asked, "Did he have a preference for using a video conference to inform Aldo's girls, or favor traveling to North Carolina?"

"Tim didn't address that specifically, but I believe he would say that the video conference would be more in line with not revealing that Aldo was tortured," Brennan opined.

Booth squared his shoulders. "Well then, we have a plan of action. I will contact the mortuary whenever Cam releases Aldo's remains. Father Tim suggested a wood urn crafted by the monks. How do you think that would that strike Aldo? As suitable, satisfactory, or off-putting? He was a diocesan priest, after all."

"Are they rivals of each other?" Brennan asked. "Surely not!"

Booth smiled. "Oh perhaps a little bit competitive, I'd say."

"Aldo was an unpretentious man, and I believe he would find the simplicity of a handmade box quite acceptable for his mortal remains," Brennan declared.

"I think you're right, Bones. Walnut, cherry, oak, or poplar?"

"What did Aldo say in your dream?"

"How did you know about that?"

"I couldn't go back to sleep when your restlessness awakened me, Booth. I didn't wish to disturb your thoughts, but I couldn't prevent hearing your mumbling."

"Aldo threatened to haunt me if I overspent on his burial. I guess poplar it is."

B&B B&B

The couple went to lunch at the diner, ordering double fries and triple catsup. In the middle of a huge bite of burger, Booth felt his cell phone's vibrations, and answered with his mouth full.

"Boof."

"Seeley? Everything okay? You sound mighty strange," Father Donovan remarked.

"Mouf full," Booth responded. "We're ah luch."

"Ah, of course, you're eating!" his friend chuckled. "Did you know that Stan Forsythe is a Harley rider? He wants to meet us for lunch, maybe end of this week."

By referring to one of Booth's former platoon members, Father Tim was letting him know he had contacted the Patriot Guard, and was suggesting a day for Aldo's services.

"I'm not sure my bike will be ready by then, but I'll check and call you this evening," Booth replied.

"Okay, gotta run. Lemme know, Seel."

Sam Cullen called Booth into his office later that day, and handed him a slip of paper. It bore a single phrase. "Lee's house, plumber coming Friday."

Booth shook his hand and nodded, then left the office. Cullen inserted the small sheet into his micro-cut shredder.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 Plant Em Deep

With Angela's assistance, a firewalled video feed was set up in the Bone Room. Its security level rivalled Jethro Gibbs' NCIS MTAC room across town. Father Donovan contacted Elaine Halstead Clemens, requesting her to visit the FBI Field Office in Raleigh for his findings about Aldo. The next afternoon, Booth and Brennan joined him at the lab to speak to her.

They had carefully couched their message about Aldo's death in terms of Gulf War Syndrome. It was true that soldiers had been given pyridostigmine bromide (PB) pills as a safeguard against nerve gas agents then used by Saddam Hussein's regime. The Army had successful utilized organophosphate pesticides and insect repellents to keep rates of pest-borne diseases low. Since Iraq had launched some missiles and artillery shells filled with botulinum toxin and anthrax, soldiers had been vaccinated against anthrax.

Each of these preventive practices had some negative side effects on soldiers' health in the years since, which were still being observed, investigated, and tracked. Elaine was aware of Aldo's reckless drug use and alcohol consumption, which had weakened his physical condition and compounded his medical problems. Father Tim advised the worried mother that she might not choose to burden her daughter with scientific complexities and medical jargon.

He asked if she wished to bring her daughter to DC for her father's military interment at Arlington. Surprised by this honor, Elaine asked what Aldo had done to deserve it. Booth explained how many times Aldo had counteracted his combat anxiety with wise patient counseling. He told her that then-Father Clemens had helped countless soldiers like him as a military chaplain.

"The same considerate kind personality that drew you to Aldo benefitted numerous service men and women in Iraq, Elaine," the agent stated firmly. "Your former husband was the best friend I had during my military service."

Elaine wiped her eyes. "I had hoped Marisa would be able to get to know Aldo. Visiting him in a military cemetery is a poor substitute for the man. I'd suggest bringing him to a military cemetery near us, but I read recently that all four of North Carolina's national cemeteries are closed to new burials or inurnments. Laying him to rest in Arlington is an incredible honor, and it sounds like he deserved it."

"The drive from Charlotte to Arlington takes a little over five hours, Ms. Halstead," Brennan spoke up. "My brother's family lives in Winston-Salem and it's a pleasant manageable drive."

Elaine sighed, took a deep breath, and sat up straighter. "Aldo and I weren't married more than a few years, but he never shirked supporting Marisa. Although absent, he was a loving father. Our finances just never allowed us to spend much time together once Marisa started school. She's a motivated intelligent girl, in the IB Diploma Program, and they penalize students for missing classes."

"Not that she wouldn't be excused for a funeral, especially a parent's, but the burden of make-up work would be brutal. She definitely got Aldo's brains; took to Latin like a duck to water. Studying Advanced Russian this year!" she smiled proudly.

"I believe visiting Washington this summer would be our best course of action to insure her continued academic success. I may delay telling her about Aldo's death until she completes her final exams. She has waited 17 years to know him; a few more months won't make much difference or alter the situation. I just wish they'd had one opportunity to meet in person. She was so little when we moved, she barely remembers him at all."

Father Donovan spoke up. "As tough as this is, that seems like a sound decision, Elaine. If there's any way I can help you, don't hesitate to call."

"Marisa's father was my friend for 26 years. Brennan and I are here for you and her, however we can help."

"I appreciate that, all of you. There's not much you can do until we get to town, but I'd welcome the chance to meet you then. Thank you for finding out about Aldo, Father Tim. Booth, Dr. Brennan, your kindness in arranging his memorial won't be forgotten. Right now, I need to get back to my office and finish some work before evening. Thank you again, and goodbye."

With that, Elaine nodded to the video technician, who closed their connection.

"I think that went about as well as we could have hoped," Father Tim declared. "I'm glad you figured out my veiled references today at lunch, Booth. You could enlist as a Navaho Code Talker!"

"No thanks, Father. I'm done with the Army! So we'll see you at St. Patrick's Friday morning at 8 a.m.? Aldo would hate this; he was never an early riser, despite saying 6:30 a.m. Mass on the base," Booth chuckled.

B&B B&B

Friday morning dawned warm and sunny. The fact that their regular 8 am daily Mass was a memorial service went unnoticed by St. Patrick's most devout parishioners. Booth and Brennan arrived early and entered a pew 6 rows back. Brennan sat forward, her arm around Booth's waist as he knelt to pray. Booth wore a dark gray suit with her favorite blue dress shirt. Aldo's urn sat inconspicuously on a low stand near the back wall. Father Donovan nodded to the couple before intoning the Opening Rite.

"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all."

Rising to his feet, Booth responded with the rest of the small congregation, "And also with you."

He gripped Brennan's hand tightly. She squeezed his back in silent support.

After the communicants had dispersed, Father Tim joined them, and started to fold himself into the Prius' back seat. He stopped and looked at the pair.

"Let's take my car. I have a Mazda 3 and it's got way more leg room. It'll confuse your bad guy. Plus, I get to drive!"

Brennan gracefully consigned herself to the back seat, and held Aldo's urn in her lap, admiring the monks' craftsmanship. Upon hearing Aldo's story, one of the monks, a former seminary classmate of Tim's, had constructed and donated the box, but Booth mailed him a check to support the monastery anyway.

They drove to Arlington Cemetery, entered its rolling hills and followed the narrow roadways until they reached Section 60 where Iraq Desert Storm veterans rested. A Patriot Guard contingent had driven their personal vehicles, and met the trio.

As Stan Forsythe casually shook his hand, Booth whispered, "I've gotta see your Harley!".

Stan nodded. "Sure thing. I hate this about Aldo, man."

"Yeah, I know. It _really_ sucks. Thanks for being low-key, by the way."

An Army chaplain joined Father Donovan in front of the small hole waiting for Aldo's Trappist box.

The two men recited the committal prayers in unison, and blessed the ground in which Aldo would rest. Twenty three minutes later, his urn disappeared from view. It was then that Brennan noticed something. They were standing along a roadway marked York Drive. The section of closely-spaced markers where Iraq War veteran cremains were interred was at least fifteen yards away. A white marble tombstone stood at the end of the plot where Aldo was being buried. It bore the name "Thomas Michael Clemens, Lance CPL" and was inscribed "Oct 23 ,1983. Beirut Barracks Bombing, Beloved Son and Cousin." She realized they were on the corner of Section 59, adjacent to Section 60 where most Iraq War soldiers were laid to rest.

As the service ended, and the men in attendance began to converse heartily, Brennan nudged her husband's shoulder.

"Booth, look. Aldo is being buried on the edge of Section 59, on top of another grave. Read this marker."

She refrained from pointing impolitely, but gestured toward the upright marble stone. He followed her arm and read silently.

"Well, I'll be damned. Whadda'ya know! Aldo had family after all. This Marine must be his cousin. He would have been 12 or 13 years old in 1983. I can't recall his birthday right offhand. This is going to be a nice surprise for Marisa one of these days. Wonder why he never mentioned this Thomas. I bet he worshipped the guy. I would've if I'd had a older brother or cousin."

It was then the couple noticed the Army chaplain standing patiently nearby.

"I'm Chaplain Jim Murphy. I see you discovered our surprise. When Sam Cullen called me about Aldo, I did some research. As you may have read, we are beginning to run out of space in Arlington, and cremains might soon be the only form of veteran bodies we can accept. I looked up Aldo's surname to see if he had any relatives buried here, because a recent policy change allows family members to be interred in the same plot. It alters the appearance of the cemetery slightly, but the administrators feel that's a better change than telling Vietnam vets and those of later conflicts that we've run out of room. I was pleasantly surprised that Aldo's family has already given one hero to our country. Now he joins their ranks as well. I'm not sure yet what type of grave marker Aldo will get, but it will be taken care of, I assure you."

Booth spoke quietly. "Chaplain, thank you for all your effort on Aldo's behalf. I am out of uniform for reasons Director Cullen probably shared with you. But I can't tell you how much bringing Aldo here means to me and his brothers in arms. Iraq was a brutal place and he kept a lot of us sane."

"Say no more. I'm glad it worked out. I don't want to be rude but we have another burial in 45 minutes, so I must be moving on to prepare for that. It was good to meet you both."

Father Tim approached, and shook his fellow cleric's hand. The Chaplain nodded to Brennan and walked away.

"Doesn't that beat all? What an ironic turn of events!" Tim remarked. "Are you two ready to return to the real world?"

"Yeah, Father. Did you meet Stan Forsythe?"

"Yup, we've worked together at several military funerals in this area."

"Stan, thanks for coming out today," he called across to the tall lean biker."

"Can we take you to lunch, Tim?" asked Brennan.

"Thanks, Temperance, but no. I've got to get back to the church for a meeting with the Sister Superior at 1:30 and she doesn't tolerate tardiness from anyone; her students or adults! Let's head back to the car."

B&B B&B

Father Donovan dropped the couple at Sid's restaurant. They had called ahead and he had their favorite Thai dishes hot and waiting. Brennan dropped gratefully into a booth, and Booth slid in across from her.

"You two look like you've been through the wringer," their host commented.

"Funeral, Sid," Brennan said simply, and he nodded in understanding as he placed their meal in front of them. The two clasped hands, leaned in to share a kiss, then grabbed chopsticks and dug in. Booth made a face after his first bite, and called to Sid,

"Can you bring me a fork, knife and spoon, please? I'm too starving to be dainty. I need to chow down!"

Brennan picked up a clump of Mee Krob and rice very primly and smirked at him.


End file.
